Day of Death
by Chickenman90
Summary: A young soldier faces combat for the first time...on Omaha Beach. One shot, please read and review!


**Dedicated to the heroic soldiers, Allied and Axis, who fought on that bloody day.**

"Hey, Morison! How many krauts do ya think you're gonna kill when ya get over there?"

"I dunno, probably a dozen or so."

"Only a dozen? Shit, I'm gonna kill a hundred of 'em."

"Yeah, after I kill a_ thousand_ of those nazi bastards."

-----

The memory of the early morning conversation brought a smile to Dexter Morison's lips. He was cold, wet, and miserable, but he knew his buddies were in this with him. And soon, they'd all be standing on French soil, having conquered the German menace at Omaha Beach. Another splash, and water leapt from the surface, into the Higgins boat, thoroughly soaking Dexter. Another boom, as a destroyer lobbed an artillery shell at the beach ahead of them.

"Somebody tell those navy boys to quit their shooting, otherwise, there's gonna be no beach _left_ for us to storm!" Private O'Donnell called out. Dexter smiled again.

"Fine by me," grunted Private Ambrose "ya'll know how much I hate running."

There was a high-pitched whistle, and then a loud PLUNK! as a German artillery shell landed in the water a few feet away, causing a huge splash that left no one in the Higgins boat dry.

"Shit! They're shootin' _at_ us!" exclaimed Private Kelly.

"No shit, Kelly. They're not gonna let us waltz right up to Berlin!" retorted Corporal Abad. The destroyers kept firing away at the beach from behind, in a continuous stream. But the German artillery was replying to the barrage with a barrage of its own. Another whistle. The men in the boat ducked down, as if crouching would save them from a direct hit. Then, a horrible noise. The noise of an artillery shell striking a metal target, tearing through human flesh to get there. This combined with the tortured screams of soldiers, and when the men in Morison's boat looked up, they saw that the boat to the their right had been blasted apart. Men, or rather, the body parts of men, were airborne, propelled into the air before crashing back down into the surf. Dexter gulped. No one in the boat was talking now. They crouched low, pressed themselves against the sides of the boat, and prayed to God.

_Those guys in the other boat were just unlucky,_ Dexter reasoned, _there's no way something can happen to-_ He was cut off by the whistle of yet another shell, which landed practically right next to him in the water._ Me, _he finished, as the shell kicked up a column of water that completely drenched Dexter. He spit seawater out of his mouth. Someone vomited.

"So, how many Krauts does it take to screw in a light bulb?" O'Donnell asked, attempting to lighten the dire mood they were all in.

"Shut the fuck up." Abad answered him. O'Donnell went silent. Dexter reached for his canteen and took a sip. They continued to wait, listening to the constant sound of artillery batteries, some directed at the enemy, many directed at Dexter and his comrades. Finally, Sergeant Evans chimed in.

"All right boys, today's gonna set apart the men from the boys, so listen up. There are gonna be some casualties. People are gonna die. Who knows what we're gonna meet on that beach. But you boys are going to survive. You guys are gonna prevail. You men are going to triumph! Now lets pick up Hitler by the collar, and give him a good ol' kick him in the balls!"

A couple men cheered, more laughed, and for at least a few moments, the men were in good spirits again.

Then the driver of the Higgins boat called out, "Thirty seconds!" Dexter tightened his grip on his M1 Garand. A wry smile crept to his face as he acknowledged the fact that he had a condom stretched over the barrel of his weapon, to keep sand out. He filed that away as a war time memory he'd have to avoid sharing with his mother when he got back to the States. Thirty seconds. For thirty more seconds, his life would know peace. In thirty seconds, his life would never be the same again. He gulped.

They were the longest thirty seconds of his life. It was agonizing, just waiting, wondering what could possibly be ahead of him. The craft shook as it jarred into the shallows of the beach. It was time.

"Shit" said Private Stevens, standing next to him. The door at the front of the Higgins boat gave way, falling forward into the water. Machine gun fire opened up on them. Private Kelly went down with a scream. The men charged out of the Higgins boat. Dexter landed into the frigid water with a crash, machine gun fire going every which way. He tripped, and his face slammed into the chest-deep water. He pulled himself back up and started struggling through the water to the beach. The bullets from machine guns landed in the water to his right, and he leapt into the water to prevent the gunner from bearing down on him. He was clear of the machine gun problem, but now he had a different problem entirely. He couldn't get back to the surface for air!

His equipment forced him down and wouldn't let him back up. Quickly, he undid every strap he could find. He cast his helmet, pack and weapon aside. Anything that weighed him down, he surrendered to the waves. Finally, he surged out of the water, taking in air by the lungful. The roar of gunfire reminded him what he had to do, and he hurried to shore. He watched as a corporal charged, only to be hit in the shoulder by a machine gun round. He toppled to the ground, but not before another bullet pierced his stomach. Dexter saw a private run and get shot in the stomach, but he had built up so much momentum that he kept running for a couple meters before rudely crashing into the ground.

Scattered across the beach were numerous thousands of iron crosses. They were meant to be obstacles, but they were the only cover Dexter could see. He dashed towards the nearest one. Gunfire kicked up sand near his ankles, suggesting to him that he run faster. A machine gun was trained on him. He dived headfirst behind the obstacle and scrunched up into as tight a ball as possible, in an attempt to make himself as small a target as he could. A couple rounds ricocheted off the beach obstacle and then the gunner turned his attention to another soldier.

Dexter craned his neck backwards taking a look at it all. Here he was, in the middle of the largest sea-borne invasion in history. Around two hundred feet away was a shingle embankment, offering some protection from the hazardous machine gun fire. The engineers would blow a hole through that, and the soldiers would spill through the gap in the embankment. Next, they'd zigzag across a minefield, capturing trenches dug into the beach, reaching the top of the bluffs off in the distance. The Germans were defending from atop these bluffs, pouring gunfire down on the American troops. The whole operation was a suicide mission. There was no doubt in Dexter's mind that he would die on this beach.

Now the artillery fire that had been bombarding the Higgins boats was bombarding the beach itself. He watched as two soldiers, making a run for an obstacle were caught in the path of an artillery shell. Sand blasted into the sky and when it came down, there was no sign of the soldiers. They had been blown to smithereens. Dexter said a silent prayer for them. The word "amen" was followed by the word "shit!" as an artillery shell landed too close for comfort. Dexter quickly scrambled to his feet and charged to another obstacle, diving behind it. Machine gun fire traced his every step.

He made it to the obstacle, and breathed a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, savoring the relative safety. Something bulky crashed into his side. He opened his eyes to find another soldier pushing him.

"What the fuck!" exclaimed Dexter as he shoved the soldier back, for the soldier was pushing him away from the safety of the obstacle.

"Scoot over! Those machine guns are everywhere!" the soldier said, shoving again.

"That's _your_ problem, buddy!" Dexter said, shoving him back.

"You're gonna get us killed!" the soldier protested.

"And you're gonna get _me _killed!" retorted Dexter. The soldier gave Dexter one last hard push, and Dexter was rolling on the sand, finally coming to a stop on his stomach, facing the bluffs. He glanced at the fortifications holding the machine guns before burying his face in the sand. He had nowhere to run, his best option would be to fake that he was dead. With a tremendous invasion, the machine gunners could only afford to aim at the moving.

Dexter didn't know how long he stayed there, faking a death that might come any second anyway. He had only the gunshots, artillery explosions and bloodcurdling screams of men to help him gauge time. He listened as grown men cried out for their mothers. He added a tear of his own to the tears already spilt. This was suicidal. This was impossible. _Who the fuck came up with this plan? Why the fuck isn't he out here, fighting with us?_

Dexter's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jab in the side. At first he thought it might have been a bullet, but then he realized what it had been. A boot. He glanced up to the officer crouching behind the obstacle he had just vacated.

"Get up, you coward! Get up and fight!" the officer ordered with a sneer of contempt. Dexter bit his lower lip. He _had _been a coward, hiding, instead of fighting. Instead of helping his brothers get through this safe. He nodded, a humorless smile spreading across his face.

"Sir, yes sir!" he shouted, picking up a nearby Thompson submachine gun that had been dropped by a fallen soldier. He picked himself up off the beach, and charged. He weaved a zigzagging pattern from obstacle to obstacle. Adrenaline kicked in. Nothing could stop him. Before he realized it, he had reached the last obstacle. Now, a bout fifteen meters ahead, was the shingle embankment. He took a deep breath and charged. He had barely moved a meter when he heard the whistle of artillery. It hit the ground a few meters in front of him, kicking up sand and tossing Dexter to his back. When the sand dropped down from their flight to the sky, a large crater lay where Dexter had been about to step. He rolled forward into the crater, remembering something they told him at basic training. _No shell hits the same place twice. _Or was that lighting? God, he hoped it was both. He took a deep breath, and charged at the shingle embankment once again. If he could just reach the embankment. It was high enough that it prevented the Germans from picking off Americans. He leapt onto the sand with a joy that could not be expressed in words. It was the very meaning of jubilation.

He lied on his back now, watching as men tried to make their way across the beach. He felt sorry for them. He was through the worst of it, whilst they were still in hell. Two soldiers were running, one in front of the other, and a single round took out both of them. He watched a medic, doing his best to patch up a wounded soldier, get shot. Now he was the one lying on the ground, calling for a medic. The healer had become the victim. Dexter saw one soldier, who had almost made it to the embankment. He was running so fast, his helmet flew off of his head. Rather than forget it, he turned around and went back for it, getting cut down my gunfire as he did so. Dexter blinked. _What the fuck was that about?_

More and more soldiers died, but more and more also safely made it to the embankment. Dexter only located one man from his unit, Private O'Donnell. Some engineers made it safely and used explosives to blow a hole in the embankment. Soldiers funneled through the hole, from the comparative safety of the embankment to the deadly maze of a minefield. Dexter followed the soldiers in. The first soldier in the line, Private O'Donnell, stepped on a landmine and was blasted into the air. Three more mines went off. Before Dexter knew it, he was the first one leaping into the trench ahead of him. A German stood there. He tried to bring his KAR 98K rifle up to bear, but Dexter cut him down with his Thompson first. The Nazi went down screaming.

_Take that, you mother-fucking pig, _Dexter though. He spit on the ground before reloading his Thompson. The German kept screaming. _Shut up, you little bastard, you're as good as dead anyway. _He wouldn't shut up.Someone finally silenced him with the pull of a Colt .45's trigger. The troops paused in the trench for a few moments, recovering. Dexter took a long pull from his canteen. _Dammit. O'Donnell's dead. Am I the only one left from my boat?_

As he was contemplating this, he and the other soldiers moved onwards through the trench. They encountered resistance at every turn, but they prevailed. Gradually, the trench made it's way up the bluffs. Dexter killed another German who tried to ambush the soldiers from the side. Dexter got to him first. _Good Riddance, _he thought.

Finally, they reached the top of the bluff. The Germans were surprised that now the enemy was on the same soil as they, and this gave the Americans an advantage. They opened up. Germans went down in screams. Grenades were lobbed, bullets were fired, and lives were lost. The Krauts retreated. The Americans lined up outside of one of the fortifications housing the machine guns.

Dexter and two others each lobbed in an M2 fragmentation grenade. The grenades went off inside, accompanied by the cries of the Germans inside the fortification. Dexter smiled in satisfaction. Then, something came _out_ of the fortification. It took a second for Dexter to realize what it was. Unfortunately, a second was all he had. The German grenade exploded, shooting lethal pieces of sharp shrapnel into him.

He felt two slice into his neck. Others created gaping holes in torso and legs. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgle. He vomited blood as he toppled backwards. He tried to call for a medic, but he just gurgled again and spit up more blood. His view became hazy and he realized that it was over. A pity. He had almost survived the battle. He had been so close.

Dexter watched the clouds pass by. The sun was just beginning to break through the clouds. _Well well, he_ thought, _it might have been a nice day, if it hadn't been for the battle._

He frowned for a moment. _Funny. I should be more concerned. I'm dying, after all._ He continued to frown, perplexed at this reaction to death, and then decided that it wasn't worth worrying about, and instead he focused on enjoying what he could of his last moments on Earth. The sun beamed down upon him.

Dexter smiled. He had served his country. He had done his duty. He had no regrets.


End file.
